


Wash Away

by sahiya



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Bathing/Washing, Chicken soup for the goddamn soul, Everyone takes care of everyone else, Exhaustion, Hurt Bruce Banner, Hurt Steve Rogers, Hurt Tony Stark, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Massage, Protective Bruce Banner, Protective Steve Rogers, Protective Tony Stark, SO MUCH FLUFF, Sickfic, Sort Of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-22
Updated: 2018-05-22
Packaged: 2019-05-10 00:16:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14726327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sahiya/pseuds/sahiya
Summary: Tony isn't hiding a broken wrist this time, at least. But he also isn't really okay.





	Wash Away

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Echo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Echo/gifts).



> This was written for echo for the prompt "bathing/washing" in my [2017 Fuck Trump H/C BINGO Fundraiser](http://sahiya.dreamwidth.org/736914.html). Sorry for the wait––but at least you get two bathing scenes for the price of one!
> 
> Many thanks to Yamx for beta reading.

The mission had been a clusterfuck from the beginning. The intel was bad, which meant that recon took about three times as long as Hill had told them it would, and then the whole thing culminated in a grueling, ten-hour hand-to-hand fight with Hydra as they took the base one inch at a time. 

It was, Tony thought, almost boring––or would’ve been if it hadn’t also been exhausting and kind of terrifying. He and Bruce and Steve weren’t the most ideal team for this, but Clint and Nat had been incommunicado for going on three weeks, doing God-knew-what for Hill and Fury, and Thor was off world. So it was the three of them taking the base, with some help from the Iron Legion. 

It was an enormous relief to finally see the base––barely recognizable now that the explosives they’d planted on their way back up had done their job––fall away beneath them as Tony piloted the Quinjet up and away. He was more tired than he could remember being since at least the Battle of New York. He shouldn’t have been behind the wheel, but Steve and Bruce were worse off than he was. “You got this, J?” he asked. “First star on the right and straight on till morning.”

“Yes, sir,” JARVIS said. 

Tony slumped in his seat, passing a hand over his face. He glanced over at Steve, who was strapped in next to him, neither moving nor speaking. He’d broken at least three ribs in the final push, and Tony suspected his suit was hiding massive bruising. He was probably concussed. Tony reached over and squeezed his shoulder. “We made it out,” he said quietly. 

Steve smiled wanly. “Thought they had us for a minute there.”

Tony had thought so, too. “They didn’t. I’m going to go check on Bruce. J, you’ve got the con.” 

Tony got up and made his way into the back. Bruce was sitting on one of the benches, shivering shockily under a blanket, headphones firmly on. Tony made sure Bruce had seen him, and then sat down beside him, careful not to touch. He reached over and pulled a protein shake out of the mini-fridge. He offered it to Bruce, who shook his head. “Nauseated,” he said. 

Tony winced. _Bad change?_ he signed, since Bruce wouldn’t be able to hear him with his noise-canceling headphones on. Tony’s ASL was only so-so, just what he’d picked up from Clint. He always meant to learn more. 

Bruce nodded. Tony sighed. He held his hand up, asking permission, and Bruce nodded. He tangled his fingers in Bruce’s curls, and leaned in to kiss Bruce on the forehead. He pulled away. _Home soon_ , he signed. _Bed, long time._ Bruce smiled, shakily. _Want alone?_

Bruce nodded again. Tony kissed his forehead again and went to rejoin Steve up front. 

Steve had dozed off in the co-pilot’s seat. Tony leaned his head back, tempted to join him, especially since he knew it’d be a while once they landed before he got to rest. The post-mission debrief with Hill was usually Steve’s job, but Steve needed a bed as badly as Bruce did, this time around. They’d grabbed a bunch of data from the base before they blew it up, too, and Tony would be the best person to help Hill start wading through that. It’d probably be at least two or three hours once they landed before Tony was able to sleep––not that long in the grand scheme of things, but right then it felt like a eternity.

JARVIS set the Quinjet down gently in the tower’s hangar, bringing Tony out of his not-quite-doze. “Thanks for getting us home, J,” he mumbled. He stood up, and every muscle in his body protested the two days he’d spent in the suit with almost no breaks. He put a hand on the pilot’s seat to steady himself. 

“You okay?” Steve asked blearily. 

“Yeah, fine,” Tony said. “What about you, you okay to walk, old man?”

“I’m not even going to argue. I feel like I’m actually ninety-six. Can you help Bruce?”

“Yeah.” Tony managed not to stagger on his way into the back to rouse Bruce. At some point during the flight he’d taken off his headphones and curled up on the bench. “Hey, Big Guy,” Tony said, gently shaking Bruce’s shoulder. “Come on. There’s a really great bed waiting for you. Way better than this bench.”

Bruce groaned. 

“Yeah, I hear you. But Cap’s too beat up to carry you like the princess we all know you are, so you’re going to have to hoof it.”

Bruce dragged himself upright and immediately listed to one side. Tony grabbed him and wedged himself in under Bruce’s arm. His back, his shoulders, his core, and both his legs protested, but he ignored their input. 

“I don’t feel so hot,” Bruce mumbled. 

“I can tell, you’re a wet noodle, but you gotta put one foot in front of the other for me, okay?”

They zig-zagged haphazardly down the ramp. Steve was waiting for them at the bottom. “You sure you don’t need medical?” Tony asked him, taking in the way he was favoring his right side. 

“I’m sure,” Steve said. “Are _you_?”

“I’m fine,” Tony said. His back gave a violent twinge, and he gasped. “I’m fine, I’m fine,” he repeated when Steve looked dubious. 

“I can––” Steve gestured toward Bruce. 

Tony shook his head. “No, I got him. He’s not getting any lighter, though, so let’s go.”

JARVIS whisked them up to the penthouse in the elevator. Steve leaned against the wall, looking half-asleep. Bruce leaned on Tony, who tried not to crumple under his weight. He’d get them settled, then go speak to Hill, file a preliminary report, and then join them in bed, Tony told himself firmly. Maybe he’d dip his whole body in a thing of IcyHot first. Pop enough ibuprofen to risk an ulcer. For fuck’s sake, he’d invented a new element while dying, this was nothing. 

“Bed or bath?” he asked as they stepped out of the elevator and stumbled toward the master suite. 

“Bath first,” Steve said. Bruce mumbled his agreement. 

“Okay,” Tony said, hoping his voice didn’t sound as strained as he felt. “You got that, J?”

“Filling the tub now, sir.”

“That’s why I pay you the big bucks.”

They paused in the bedroom for Steve and Bruce to strip out of their filthy uniform (Steve) and loose pajamas (Bruce). Tony didn’t bother; he could report to Hill in a dirty Nirvana shirt and jeans just as well as anything else, and she could fucking deal with it. Tony then shivvied his naked partners into the bathroom, warm and humid now from the hot water filling the tub. He added eucalyptus oil to the water, to soothe sore muscles and the headaches he could tell they were both nursing. 

Steve climbed in without trouble, despite the extensive purple bruising up and down his right side, but Bruce just sat on the edge of the tub and breathed in the steam for a few seconds. 

“You doing okay?” Tony asked him. He rested his hand on the back of Bruce’s neck and rubbed at the pressure point with his thumb. 

“I feel sick,” Bruce admitted. 

“Your blood sugar is probably bottoming out,” Steve said. He rested his head against Bruce’s hip. “I feel it, too.”

Tony nodded. “Two recovery shakes, coming up. Steve, can you help Bruce get in?”

“Yeah,” Steve said. “Thanks.”

Fortunately, everyone’s preferred recovery shakes were in the fridge, neatly labeled. Tony grabbed one of each, then went back for a second for Steve. He poured Steve and Bruce’s into spill-proof cups that they could drink in the bath. He added a few bottles of water and a shake for himself to the pile of stuff in his arms. 

“Special delivery,” Tony announced as he came back into the bathroom. “Cap.” He handed Steve his cup. “Bruciebear.” Bruce managed to wrap a faintly shaking hand around his without dropping it in the water. Tony surveyed them with satisfaction. Bruce was tucked into Steve’s side, and both of them looked much more relaxed. 

Of course, that meant that Steve had the bandwidth to notice that Tony was still dressed. “Where do you think you’re going?” he asked, frowning. 

“Someone has to report to Hill,” Tony said, trying not to sound too weary. “It’s okay, Steve. I got it this time.”

“But you were in the suit for––it had to be almost forty-eight hours,” Steve said. “You barely got a break. You have to be exhausted.”

“I’m all right. And someone has to talk to Hill.”

“But––”

“I got it, Steve,” Tony said firmly. He dug around in the medicine cabinet briefly, unearthing a bottle of ibuprofen. He took two and put it back, since it wouldn’t work for either of his partners. But on the bottom shelf he found what he was actually looking for. “Arnica gel for the bruising,” he said, holding up the tube. “I’ll be back in an hour or two.” He bent down, ignoring the ache in his back to kiss Steve. Then he kissed Bruce. “Drink your shake, Big Green. And neither of you better fall asleep in the bathtub.”

“Tony...” Steve said, looking no less worried. “You’re sure you’re okay? You’re not... secretly nursing a broken wrist, or...”

“One time,” Tony said, with some indignation.

“One time,” Steve agreed, “plus all the other times.”

Tony reluctantly had to concede the point. He supposed he couldn’t blame Steve for not taking him at his word. But this time, he really wasn’t hiding anything serious––some cuts and bruises, sure, but if he let those stop him, he’d never get anything done. “Hey.” Tony cupped Steve’s face. “I’m okay. And I mean it––get out before you fall asleep.”

Steve was still frowning, but he nodded, apparently acquiescing. Tony left, shutting the bathroom door behind him so the warm air wouldn’t escape. “J, keep an eye on them, all right?”

“Yes, sir, of course.”

At least he didn’t have far to go, Tony reflected. Gone were the days of having to schlep to SHIELD HQ to give a mission report. Tony slid into the extremely comfortable and ergonomically sound chair in his private office and called Hill’s direct line. She winked into existence. “Maria,” Tony greeted her. 

“Tony.” Her eyebrows went up. “Have you slept yet?”

“No, and it was a long fucking mission. Let’s do this quickly, all right?”

“As quickly as we can,” she said, which wasn’t much of a promise. 

It was a much longer debrief than Tony had hoped it would be. Hill wanted to walk through the mission step by step, and when that was done, she had questions about the data they’d managed to nab on their way out the door. It was tedious and exhausting. Tony wouldn’t have had much patience for it on a good day, and this had been a pretty shitty day so far. 

Partway through his explanation of the data, Tony had to get up and walk around, because his muscles had started to seize up in the chair. Mercifully, Hill didn’t remark on it. 

Tony had just lowered himself back into his chair when his phone beeped with a message from JARVIS. _Captain Rogers would like to know if you need him to rescue you from the debriefing_.

It was tempting. Tony was exhausted, and he hoped they were almost done, but he couldn’t be sure. Still, the more he did now, the less they’d have to do tomorrow. And Tony didn’t think he was going to be good for much in the morning. _No need for him to worry his pretty star-spangled head about it_ , he typed back with one hand, while highlighting data for Hill with the other. _I’m okay._

By the time they reached the end of Hill’s agenda almost an hour later, that was considerably less true. Tony’s head was pounding––and swimming. He must have looked really bad, because Hill actually gave him a sympathetic look and said, “Get some rest. You look like hell.”

Tony’s smile felt wan. “Thanks. Good night, Maria.”

“Good night, Tony.”

The screen went blank. Tony let his head fall back to rest against the back of the chair. “J, is Steve awake?”

“No, sir, I’m afraid not. Should I wake him for you?”

“No,” Tony sighed. There went his––admittedly somewhat selfish––fantasy of Steve being awake and recovered enough to help him to bed. 

“Are you certain? Captain Rogers told me to wake him if you needed him.”

“I’m okay, J. No need to wake Steve.” Tony levered himself out of the chair with a groan and started a long, slow shuffle across the penthouse. He was so tired, he felt sick from it. Why was his apartment so damn big? Who needed this much space?

Their bedroom, when he finally reached it, was dark and quiet. He could just make out the shape of Steve and Bruce in the bed, curled up together. Tony stood for a few seconds, swaying on his feet, thinking about how good it would feel to just strip down and crawl in bed with them. But he had days of dried sweat sticking to him, and he smelled. If it had been just him, he would’ve done it anyway, but he didn’t want to subject his partners to it. 

The bathroom still smelled faintly of eucalyptus. In retrospect, Tony realized it would’ve been better for him to shower before speaking with Hill, when he wasn’t quite so close to actually passing out from exhaustion. But he hadn’t thought the debrief would take so long, or that he’d hit the wall quite so spectacularly. JARVIS turned the shower on, and Tony stripped down slowly, feeling every pulled muscle, every bruise, and every minute of his forty-five years. 

The room was already half-filled with steam when Tony stepped into the shower. He looked longingly at the shower bench, but he knew if he sat down now, he wouldn’t get up again. 

He stood under the spray for a long time, letting it pound some of the soreness out of his muscles. 

“Sir,” JARVIS prompted, some indeterminate amount of time later. 

“Yeah,” Tony mumbled, reaching for his washcloth and body wash. His head was swimming again, the steam making him dizzy. 

The wash cloth hit the tile with a loud _splat._ Tony stared at it in bewildered betrayal. 

“Sir,” JARVIS said, his tone suddenly much more urgent, “your blood pressure is dropping.”

 _Sounds right_ , Tony thought, just before his knees buckled. 

***

_Two hours earlier..._

Steve stared at the closed bathroom door, as though he could still see Tony through it. He should have insisted on taking the call with Hill himself, he thought, guiltily. He was the team leader, and that sort of thing was his responsibility. But he could _feel_ the serum trying to put his body back together, and he just didn’t have the strength. Tony was his second, unofficially if not on paper, and he was willing to take this one. Steve would find a way to thank him later.

Besides, someone had to look after Bruce. He was still worryingly still and pale. 

“Hey, Bruce, c’mon,” Steve said. “You have to drink this.” He pushed the recovery shake at him. “Your blood pressure and blood sugar are still way too low.”

“Yeah, okay,” Bruce said, accepting it from him. He took a couple long pulls through the straw and for a few minutes there were no sounds aside from quiet slurping, and the soft lapping of the water against the sides of the tub. 

Steve hit the end of his first shake and reached for one of the bottles of water. He hoped Tony had remembered to hydrate. He should have checked––but he supposed he could still. “JARVIS, is Tony re-hydrating?”

“Sir has drunk sixteen ounces of water,” JARVIS reported. 

Steve nodded, satisfied. “Thanks.”

Bruce stirred against him. “Where is Tony?”

“Reporting to Hill. Feeling better?”

“Yeah. That recovery shake will never be my favorite, but it does get the job done. I’m just exhausted and sore now, not completely flattened.” He sighed. “That was a doozy of a change.”

“Seemed like it,” Steve said. “Water?”

“Please.” Bruce drank half the bottle in one long swallow. “Think I could sleep for about a week.”

“Me too.”

Bruce glanced at him, eyes narrowing. “Where are you hurt?”

Steve grimaced. “Three broken ribs, a strained shoulder, lots of bruising.” He hesitated. “Probably a concussion.”

Bruce hissed in displeasure. “No wonder Tony took the debriefing. He’s okay?”

“So he said.”

“Like that means anything.”

Steve grimaced. He had the feeling he and Bruce were both thinking about the same incident. It had involved Tony trying to set a broken wrist _by himself_ in the workshop with DUM-E’s eager but less than medically advised assistance. Fortunately, JARVIS had figured out a way around Tony’s overrides to let Steve and Bruce know that something was wrong. “You have a point. JARVIS?”

“Sir re-set my safety parameters at Captain Rogers’s insistence after the last time he hid an injury, so yes, I could and would tell you. He is still speaking to Commander Hill. He does not have any injuries that I have detected, beyond some contusions and superficial scrapes.”

Steve nodded. “And you’ll let us know if he needs us?”

“Of course, Captain.”

Bruce relaxed, just a little. Steve pulled him closer. “I vote we sleep as late as we want tomorrow,” he murmured. 

Bruce gave a little laugh. “That mean you’ll make it past seven before getting up to run your usual marathon?”

“Don’t think I’ll be doing that,” Steve admitted. “Seriously, Bruce, I think we’ve all earned a break. You’ll help me keep Tony from getting up and pounding all the dents out of the suit?”

“I will help you try,” Bruce said. “I make no guarantees as to our success.”

“Fair enough.” Steve pressed a kiss to Bruce’s temple. “Can I wash your hair for you?”

Bruce hummed in pleasure. “Only if you let me see to your bruises after we get out.”

“Deal.” Steve reached for the bottle of shampoo, then detoured briefly to drink some of his shake. He was starting to feel better; his body needed fuel to heal. It would’ve been better still if he’d been able to eat a real meal, but he was too tired, and so were his partners. It could wait until they’d all slept. 

Bruce was weird––even weirder than Steve himself––about letting himself be taken care of. Tony liked luxury, so if Steve could pass off caretaking as pampering, he’d usually hold still for it. But it all embarrassed the hell out of Bruce. He really liked having his hair played with, though. It had been one of the few pleasures available to him before he and Tony managed to solve the sex problem. Even now, it was the easiest way to settle him. And Steve liked Bruce’s hair, which was thick and curly, shot through with gray.

He liked even more that Bruce’s face smoothed out when he buried his fingers in his hair, rubbing circles with the pads of his fingers, pushing into the pressure point at the base of his skull with his thumbs. He looked younger, then, and Steve always felt a brief pang for the man Bruce had been before the serum, before the Hulk. He loved Bruce the way he was, and he wouldn’t have traded him for the world, but he wished that life had been a little kinder to Bruce Banner. 

Bruce was basically boneless by the time Steve was done rinsing the shampoo from his hair, relaxed enough that he didn’t protest when Steve took a washcloth and the expensive body wash Tony loved and ran it over him. He even arched a little with a groan that made Steve wish they weren’t both quite so worn out. 

“You are so good at this,” Bruce mumbled. “You want me to––”

“Nah, I got it.” Not that Steve wouldn’t have enjoyed it, but he didn’t get out of it what Bruce did, and they’d been in here long enough. He washed up quickly while Bruce climbed out of the tub and wrapped himself up in a fluffy robe. He laid a towel down on the bench beside the tub. Steve pushed himself up and out of the tub and onto the towel. 

“It’s not that bad,” he said, then had to stifle a yelp when Bruce touched the bruises on his side. 

“Which doesn’t mean we can’t treat them,” Bruce said, apparently deciding not even to argue the veracity of Steve’s statement. “Arnica is one of the few things that works for you, so we might as well use it.”

“I know, I just... don’t even know why I’m still arguing,” Steve admitted with a faint chuckle. “Go ahead.”

Bruce smoothed the arnica into the bruises on Steve’s flank. Steve sucked in a breath through his teeth at the pain, but it faded quickly and took much of the ache with it. Steve took another, slower breath, closing his eyes in relief. He was so used to not being able to use any painkillers at all that he hadn’t even thought about trying anything topical until Bruce had suggested it. And the arnica didn’t help with everything; the bruises were deep, and Steve still ached when he tried to move. But it was better than nothing––and he was slowly coming to like the ritual of allowing one of his partners to rub it in for him.

“Better?” Bruce murmured. 

“Much,” Steve replied with a small smile. “Think I can sleep now.”

“Good.” Bruce leaned in for a kiss. “Because I’m about to fall over.”

Neither of them bothered with clothes. They were the only Avengers in residence at the moment, and even if they hadn’t been, the penthouse was Tony’s private floor. “JARVIS, is Tony still talking to Hill?” Steve asked as they climbed into bed. 

“Yes, Captain.”

Steve frowned. “Does he need me to come rescue him?” He hadn’t thought the debrief would take so long. Tony had been just as exhausted as Steve and Bruce, if a little less banged up. 

“I will ask him. One moment, please.” JARVIS went briefly silent. “He says that there is, and I quote, ‘no need to worry your pretty star-spangled head about it.’”

Steve snorted. “Well, he’s clearly feeling well enough to be a wiseass.”

“Tony is perfectly capable of cracking jokes and bleeding out at the same time,” Bruce pointed out wryly. “He’s nothing if not a consummate multi-tasker. But it does sound like he’s doing okay.”

Steve agreed––and now that he was in bed, he didn't especially want to get up again. He would have, for Tony, but he was just as glad not to have to. “JARVIS, you’ll wake me if Tony needs me?”

“I will, Captain.”

He and Bruce managed to get comfortable with minimum negotiation. It helped that the bed was enormous, but both of them liked to sleep close. It was harder with Steve’s various strained muscles and bruises, but in the end, he ended up with Bruce curled around him, almost protectively. 

Being the little spoon had been one of many revelations of Steve’s relationship with Bruce and Tony. Not that he’d had the chance to be any spoon at all with Peggy, and with Bucky... well, sleeping together had been rare enough that they’d never really developed habits around it. But Steve thought he wouldn’t have let himself enjoy it, pre-serum, and after the serum––after Azzano––Bucky hadn’t let Steve get close enough for it to matter. 

He spared a thought for Bucky then, as he closed his eyes––not quite a prayer, but something like it. He hoped, every time they hit a new Hydra base, that it might somehow lead Steve to him. It hadn’t, this time, though there might yet be something in the data they’d recovered. Wherever he was, Steve hoped he was free, and that he was warm and safe, not sleeping rough. 

“Good night, Steve,” Bruce murmured against the back of Steve’s neck. 

“G’night, Bruce,” Steve said, and closed his eyes.

***

_“Captain Rogers.”_

Steve was awake in an instant. “JARVIS?”

“Sir is in the shower,” JARVIS said, “and I do not think he should be there alone. His blood pressure is dropping.” 

Steve threw back the covers. “What––” he heard Bruce say in groggy bewilderment, but Steve was already out of bed. 

He reached the doorway to the bathroom just in time to see Tony stumble and start to collapse. He lunged across the room, certain he wouldn’t get there in time. His knees hit the tile hard as he dove to get himself under Tony before he cracked his head on the shower bench. “Nngh,” Tony said, blinking away the water in his eyes. “Steve?”

“Jesus, Tony,” Steve said, breathless with adrenaline and relief. He sat back, wincing as all his injuries protested, and shifted Tony into a more comfortable position against his chest. “You scared the hell out of me.”

“‘M okay.”

“You definitely are not okay. Thank God JARVIS woke me up, or you could’ve given yourself a concussion trying to take a damn shower.” Steve lifted Tony onto the shower bench and sat him up. Tony swayed into him and rested his head on Steve’s shoulder. “Where are you hurt?” Steve asked. 

“Not hurt, just tired. So, so tired.”

“Sir is being honest with you, Captain,” JARVIS said, before Steve could ask for confirmation. “He has simply pushed himself past his limits.”

“See?” Tony said blearily, peering up at Steve. “S’not like the thing with my wrist. Promise.”

“Hey,” Bruce said, appearing in the doorway, “what’s––oh Jesus, Tony, not again.”

“I’m okay,” Tony protested, as Bruce crouched down beside them. “I just got dizzy, and Captain Worrywort here––”

“––saved you from cracking your skull open?” Steve supplied. 

“––overreacted,” Tony finished. 

“You don’t look at all well,” Bruce said, fussing over him. “I knew that debriefing was a bad idea.”

“Someone had to do it,” Tony said. 

“Someone had to,” Steve agreed, “eventually. Not right away, not if none of us were up for it.” He frowned at Tony. “Never mind. That’s tomorrow’s problem.” Bruce was right––Tony did not look well at all. He was pale, and there were bruises under his eyes like he was coming off a four-day bender in the lab. Now that he was naked, Steve could see the scrapes and bruises JARVIS had mentioned––nothing serious that Steve could see, but enough to be uncomfortable. And he was moving very stiffly, as though all his soft spots hurt. 

“I want to put antibiotic cream on some of these,” Bruce murmured, checking Tony over. “And these bruises should get the same treatment Steve’s did.”

“You developing a specialty in arnica massage?” Steve teased Bruce. 

“I might, hanging out with you two.”

“I really just want to go to bed,” Tony mumbled. 

“Let’s get you washed up, and then you can lie in bed while we do the rest,” Bruce said. “Deal?”

“Yeah.” Tony closed his eyes wearily. “Deal.”

It was a mark of Tony’s exhaustion that he didn’t argue at all as Steve retrieved the washcloth from the floor of the shower and poured some of Tony’s bodywash into it. Bruce pulled the shower head down and wet Tony down all over before aiming it at his hair. Steve exchanged a quick glance with him, just enough to agree on the division of labor: Steve was on bodywash duty, Bruce on shampoo. 

He worked up a good lather on the washcloth and started running it across Tony’s shoulders and down his back, following the line of his spine to the top of his ass. He dipped around his hip and then worked his way back up, over his abs and chest. Then he did the other side, just as gentle and careful. Tony stayed remarkably quiet, aside from the occasional hiss of pain when Steve ghosted the cloth over one of his scrapes or bruises. Steve tried to keep his touch gentle, but Tony still flinched, and it made Steve ache a little himself in sympathy. 

Bruce had taken his time working Tony’s shampoo into his hair. He tugged the shower head over and handed it to Steve, who used it to rinse off the soap he’d lathered all over Tony. Bruce took it back and carefully rinsed the shampoo from Tony’s hair, tilting his head back and using his hand to shield Tony’s eyes from the runoff. Steve watched them, smiling to himself, and committing the sight to memory for the next moment he had the time and energy for his sketchbook. It was beautiful in a way he was sure he would never quite capture: the arch of Tony’s neck, the water flowing over it; the gentleness of Bruce’s hands, the care he took touching Tony; Tony’s eyes closed, the lashes long and dark against his skin; the small frown of concern and concentration on Bruce’s face. 

“One last rinse under the spray,” Bruce murmured, breaking the spell. “Steve?”

“Sure.” Steve helped Tony to his feet and pulled him over to stand beneath the spray. Bruce ducked out of the shower to get towels for all of them. 

“How’re you doing?” Steve asked Tony. 

“I’m...” Tony shook his head. “Honestly, I’m wishing I felt well enough to enjoy this.”

Steve chuckled, relieved that Tony was cognizant enough to joke. “We’ll do an encore when we’re all feeling more ourselves.”

Bruce reappeared with an armful of giant fluffy towels, looking as though he’d hastily dried himself off. Steve turned the shower off and handed Tony off to him. Bruce bundled Tony into one of the towels and used another to dry his hair. “You with me?” Steve heard Bruce ask him. Tony’s reply was indistinct. “Okay. Just like you told me earlier––one foot in front of the other.”

Steve took a couple of minutes to tidy up in the bathroom, knowing that he’d thank himself tomorrow morning when they didn’t have a mess to deal with. By the time he was done, Bruce had Tony facedown on the bed and was straddling his hips, smoothing antibiotic cream over the worst of the scrapes. 

“Want me to do the arnica?” Steve asked quietly. 

Bruce shook his head. “I’m okay. I might need you to help me flip him, though. I think he’s asleep already.”

“Mm. Not,” was Tony’s half-hearted rejoinder. 

Steve settled himself on the bed so Tony’s head rested against his hip. He stroked his fingers through Tony’s hair. “Feel free, sweetheart. We’ve got you.”

“Mm,” Tony replied. It would’ve been an argument, Steve was sure, if he hadn’t been so boneless with exhaustion. Steve exchanged a smile with Bruce and just kept stroking Tony’s hair. 

Tony was out cold by the time Steve and Bruce shifted him onto his back so Bruce could finish treating him. Finally Bruce knelt back and looked at Steve. 

“Okay?” Steve asked, not bothering to keep the tiredness out of his own voice. 

“Yes,” Bruce said. He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “Note: always make Tony strip down after a mission.”

“And never, ever believe him when he says he’s okay,” Steve added with a grimace.

“In his defense, he wasn’t actually hiding a broken bone. This time.”

“Small favors.” Steve lay down next to Tony. Bruce climbed in the other side, so that Tony was sandwiched between them. Steve shifted Tony carefully onto his side, which was his preferred sleeping position anyway, and spooned up behind him. At least this way Tony wouldn’t be able to escape without one of them knowing. 

***

Tony woke and regretted it immediately. He hurt. Oh God, he hurt _everywhere._ He tried to move and a noise escaped him. A noise that was definitely not a whimper, because he was a Stark and a superhero and neither Starks nor superheroes whimpered. 

“Tony?” Steve, wrapped around Tony from behind, shifted. “You okay?”

No use pretending. “Sore,” Tony admitted. “Really, really sore.”

Steve made a sympathetic noise. “I’m sorry, sweetheart.”

Tony opened his eyes and realized there was a Bruce-shaped indentation in the mattress in front of him. “Where’s Bruce?”

“Making breakfast.” Steve stretched, carefully. “He promised eggs.”

“And bacon?” Tony asked hopefully. 

“Only if one of us gets up and makes it.”

Tony pouted briefly. “J, tell Bruce that I am very sore and tired, and I need my supersoldier heating pad for medical reasons, but bacon would make me feel better. And when he says no to that, tell him I want extra cheese in my eggs.”

“Yes, sir,” JARVIS said, sounding amused. 

“You’re ridiculous,” Steve said, smiling. 

“I’m injured,” Tony replied, rolling gingerly onto his back so he could look up at Steve. He widened his eyes. “You have to be nice to me.”

Steve propped his head on one hand and rested the other on Tony’s stomach. “I am being nice to you. And you’re not that injured. If you were,” he added, with a subtle shift in tone that made Tony wince in anticipation, “then I would be truly upset with you for taking the debriefing with Hill yesterday, instead of merely exasperated.”

Tony wished he could have buried his face in the pillows, just to avoid Steve’s gaze. Not that it would have saved him for long. He looked away, hoping that Bruce would appear with breakfast, but his luck was not that good. Finally he glanced up, and saw that Steve was looking back at him almost... fondly. He did look a little exasperated, but... fondly exasperated. Tony relaxed. 

“In all fairness, I wasn’t hiding an injury this time,” Tony said. “I just miscalculated how much I had left in the tank.”

Steve nodded. “Okay.”

Tony frowned. “Okay?”

“Okay.”

“You’re not...”

Steve arched an eyebrow at him. “What?”

“Usually this is the part where I get a lecture about taking care of myself and asking for help when I need it, and how too much self-reliance is a vice, not a virtue.”

Steve smiled. “That does sound like something I’d say.”

“You _have_ said it! Many times!”

“But not this time.”

Tony stared at Steve, dumbfounded. Steve looked back placidly. 

Bruce pushed the door to the bedroom open. “Okay,” he said. “Tea, toast, cheese with some eggs––yes, there’s coffee, Tony.” He paused. “What? What’s going on?”

“Steve was just refusing to lecture me on my self-destructive tendencies.”

“Ah,” Bruce said. “Well, I think that can happen––or not happen––while we eat.” He set the tray down on the bedside table. Tony grimaced, reluctant to try and sit up, but then Bruce started pouring him a cup of coffee from the carafe on the tray and he changed his mind. 

Sitting up was, indeed, just as terrible as he’d thought it would be. “Okay, no more multiple-day stretches in the suit,” he said, grimacing as Steve helped him settle against the headboard. 

Bruce tried to hand him a plate of eggs and toast. Tony made grabby hands at the coffee. Bruce rolled his eyes and handed him the mug. “You have to eat actual food, not just coffee.”

“Maybe if there was bacon,” Tony said, eyeing the plate sadly. Though it did appear that Bruce was right about the cheese-to-eggs ratio, at least. He drained half his coffee in one go and finally let Bruce hand him his food. He shoved a forkful in his mouth and chewed. 

On his other side, Steve took a long sip of his coffee. “I don’t lecture for the sake of it, you know. If you stop doing reckless things that show no regard for your personal safety––”

“Pot,” Tony muttered. “Kettle.”

Steve ignored him. “––then I’ll stop doing it. I believe you when you say you just miscalculated how much you had left in you. So even though it scared the hell out of me to see you about to collapse in the shower––and I hate to think what might’ve happened if I’d been three seconds slower––it’s not really your fault.”

Tony blinked rapidly. “Oh.”

“All of that having been said,” Bruce added mildly, “I hope you won’t push yourself to the breaking point like that again.”

“Yeah, that sucked,” Tony admitted. “But the two of you were down and Hill needed help with the data.” He paused. “I’m not sure I’d do it differently. Except for showering first so I could just faceplant straight into bed when I was done.”

Steve and Bruce exchanged a glance. “Good enough,” Bruce said. “How’re the eggs?”

Tony blinked again. “Delicious,” he said, not quite trusting that that was the end of it. 

But apparently it was. They ate, with Steve and Bruce carrying the conversation, and then Steve took the dishes back to the kitchen. Bruce prodded Tony into stretching out so he could check his various scrapes and bruises. The worst of the bruises were a deep, mottled purple. Steve’s bruising––while far more spectacular––had already faded into colorful greens and yellows. 

The noises Bruce made were mostly satisfied, rather than worried, so Tony let himself relax into the attention. Bruce liked doing this, Tony knew. And he didn’t hate it, either. Not anymore. 

Steve came back and settled himself on the bed so he was sitting up against the headboard. He had one knee bent, with his sketchpad resting on it. Tony rested his head against Steve’s thigh and closed his eyes. Bruce’s touch had shifted minutely from gentle and clinical to gentle and intimate, running up and down the length of his back, avoiding the worst of his bruises and lingering over the knots in his muscles. 

Tony opened his eyes. “Don’t we... have things to do today? Post-mission things? Or just... people things?” He had things to do, he was almost certain. Things he’d been working on before they left. Things he was probably behind on for SI. At the very least, he had a suit that needed to be repaired.

“No,” Steve said. 

“No,” Bruce echoed. 

“Oh,” Tony said. He wondered if he should argue. Traditionally, he’d never really liked downtime. But he was warm, and Bruce and Steve were both touching him, and if they said that there was nothing to do...

Well, maybe Tony would just believe them. For today, anyway. 

“Okay,” Tony said, closing his eyes. “Sounds good.”

Bruce’s hands stilled. “Really?”

“I thought that’d be harder,” Steve said. 

Tony flopped a hand in the general direction of Steve’s leg. “Injured. Be nice.”

Steve’s hand landed in his hair, burying his fingers in its strands. “Sure, Tony,” he said, suppressed laughter in his voice. “Whatever you say.”

_Fin._


End file.
